A few decades back, maybe in the ‘80s, my wife told me some disturbing news about a mutual friend. He (let’s call him Adam) had been having an affair with a married woman (Jezebel) who was not his wife (Eve). My wife had been talking with some friends when Jezebel came up and joined the conversation. In time, Jez began talking about a man she was seeing – and seeing more than she should have – a man she thought was single (which was curious, since Jez is married) but who turned out to have been Adam.

My wife said nothing about it when she heard it but came home and told me about it; immediately after her disclosure, she said I couldn’t tell anyone.

I told her that I couldn’t agree to that and would be talking to Adam as soon as possible. My wife became very angry with me, throwing around words like betrayal, trust, and integrity. I told her firmly that, by keeping quiet, we were both protecting the sinner (Adam) and not the victim (Eve).

My wife, being 100 percent woman, responded as almost all wives would upon hearing that information. She screamed, “You are not going to tell him!” I realized at that second that nothing good would come from continuing to talk, but this rather obvious fact seemed hidden to her. After what seemed like hours of her pleading, explaining, and crying, we went to bed: she on her side of our King-sized mattress, me on my side of our not-so-big couch.

The next day was Sunday and, being at odds with one another and barely speaking, realized that this was a typical, before-church Sunday morning. So we clothed ourselves as grownups and went off to be spiritual and worshipful.

At church, we stopped to talk with our pastor briefly and explained our dilemma, careful not to disclose who the perpetrator was. After listenign, he told my wife that I was right, she was wrong, and he needed to be confronted as soon as possible. My wife nodded, bowed her head like a contrite penitent, and said, “Of course. Thank you.”

End of conflict. Kind of.

I spoke with Adam, he repented and told his wife, she (realizing she would have the upper hand for years to come and be able to buy pretty much anything she wanted) forgave him, and they headed off to counseling and the promise of a better, stronger, rededicated marriage.

I remained troubled, however. The question that kept circling in my mind was, “Why did my wife immediately believe our pastor but resisted believing – indeed, refused to believe –me?”

When I asked her this question, she simply replied, “Well, because he’s our pastor,” as though this was the answer to any and all questions ranging from sexual frequency to the complexities of String Theory. Hearing this, and being a trained clinician in human relationships and communication skills, I responded as most real men would, saying firmly, “Oh, yeah!?!”

When my emotional hijacking was peacefully and internally resolved, I concluded that something was seriously wrong in my leadership and headship of my family generally and of my wife specifically.

As I thought about it, I realized why my wife had responded so promptly to our pastor: she saw him as a higher authority than herself. She did not see me the same way; hence, the argument. Somehow or somewhere I had lost or given up my responsibility to lead. It wasn’t long before I began to see how that had happened: I was playing to the wrong audience, seeking praise from the wrong person.

I had typically made decisions for us in the past, but I had done so with one eye on the problem and the other on my wife. If I sensed she was in agreement – especially if she had said as much – I boldly pronounced my decision and congratulated myself for being the Man of the House. If she was disapproving, I momentarily feigned anguish and deep reflection before saying no. We got along wonderfully, although at times my wife seemed frustrated by my almost universal agreement with her. There were times, to be sure, when I disagreed and stood my ground, but only long enough for her to argue her case and threaten consequences. I would look pensive for a bit, nod my head and mutter “Hmmm,” before changing my mind. “God speaks to us through our wives,” I would explain to my friends, who would in turn look to their own wives before agreeing or disagreeing.

But now I could do that no longer. I needed to stop looking for the winks of approval and nods of permission from my wife and deal instead with God. He has made clear what leadership looks like – one need look no further, for example, than Christ’s leadership of His disciples – and requires that same type of headship from me.

It was not immediately easy but it slowly became far more simple than prior to that conflict so long ago. I know – and believe – that I must stand before God and answer to Him for the decisions I make and the manner in which I make them. No more “The woman Thou gavest me” excuses: the buck starts and stops with me.

Although things got worse for awhile, my wife eventually seemed to relax and respond to my decisions. To this day I continue to seek out her feelings, perceptions, opinions, expertise, and wisdom, but not for the purpose of making the decision she would make. She is a tremendous resource but the decision is mine, not hers. Even when I delegate the responsibility to choose, it is still my choice: I am responsible for whatever course we follow regardless of who chooses the course.

My wife doesn’t wait for our pastor to tell her what is right or wise or just anymore. She listens to me. Even when she disagrees, she supports me because she knows I have listened to her and have seriously considered her contribution. But she knows I will make the decision that I believe is best for us. Though I might be wrong, she respects it.

Nowadays it is almost effortless, this leadership responsibility I bear. Part of that is due to my wife’s wonderful submission as someone who is frequently part of the loyal opposition.

But most of it, I think, is because I am playing to the right audience. God is my authority and it is to Him that I must given an account. My wife gets explanations but He alone holds me accountable.

It is good that there should be creatures such as we are. Unless and until we can say that, we are condemned to an endless attempt to be something else – whether that something else seems to be ‘less’ or ‘more.’” – Gilbert Meileander, Neither Beast Nor God: The Dignity of the Human Person

Recently, in one of the many media that now exist, I received a note informing me that I am jealous. I thought this to be a curious thing for the man to have said, he being a fellow believer and all, as well as being one who doesn’t know me except through what I have written here and elsewhere.

It is a remarkable thing to be human, but perhaps nowhere is it more striking than when it comes to the internal world we construct in order to being able to live in external reality. It is a predilection to which we all fall prey: somehow, through our internal dialogues, we believe we are able to see another, equally unique and complex individual for what they truly are. Those of us who are married are much too familiar with the feeling that, despite living with this other person thirty or forty years, we are caught off guard by something they say or do. When this happens, we are surprised and wonder if we will ever know them for who they are or are becoming at that moment.

To then assume, as we do, that we are able to make declarative remarks about the core qualities or motivations of others who are relative strangers is perhaps human folly at its best – or, more appropriately, its worst. Based solely on what we have read and our own, internal reaction to it, we are now quickly and firmly convinced that we now know a person for who he or she really is.

Psychologists would refer to this as assimilation, i.e., putting people in preexisting categories for the sake of simplifying our existence. In truth, however, each person is deserving of their own category; accommodation is the mental facility of creating new categories for information, events, experiences, and things that do not fit into any of the stereotypical files we already possess. But since we have limited processing capacities, we prefer to carry as few categories as possible in our neurological operating system.

For Christians, it is incredible that we should do this. We believe in a God who is a Master Creator, One who never creates the same tree, mountain, wave, or person twice. Each act of creation is unrepeatable, incapable of happening more than once. There is, has been, and always will be but one of you, and but one of me. That is true for all.

But it is also a bit astounding for Christians to force fit others into convenient molds so that we can escape the delightful but laborious experience of getting to know each person as they are. The more we come to know someone, the more we realize that they require their own category, and not merely a category in which no others fit but also one that is different from our own internal comprehension of the person. To begin to know someone deeply and intimately is a wonderful, rare, loving thing to do, but it also necessitates some mental work that many of us would prefer not to be bothered with..

At the same time, it is a form of passing judgment to make a declaration such as “You are jealous” to another. When we do so, we are criticizing God’s work in the other person and have lost sight of the work needing to be done in our own hearts and minds.

Finally, it is a failure to trust in the purposes, sovereignty, and wisdom of God. While admittedly we all fail to recall this to mind at key times, we do not know how God is working out His plan for each person. It may be that my (or anyone’s) act of “being jealous” is used by Him to do something in our own lives as well as in the life of the person whose life I want to live for myself. No small part of God’s unfathomable genius is revealed in His working out His purposes in billions of people over thousands of years, all of which ultimately are to be drawn together at the Eschaton.

For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known.” – 1 Cor 13.12

This is the point at which I wonder if I am a fanatic or am normal. By normal, I don’t mean what most people at most times in most places seem to think or do: that’s “average.” By normal, I mean what Scripture teaches about how we ought to live and what that teaching looks like if lived out in daily life.

Early on in my Christian life I heard someone say that Christians should not be so heavenly minded as to be no earthly good. I remember thinking that it was a catchy saying but also wondering how those two could be competitors. Even in the crawling years of my spiritual walk I concluded quite the opposite: the more heavenly minded one was, the more earthly good they would be capable of doing – or, for any nitpickers reading this, the more good Christ could do through me.

I tend to think everything involving eternal beings or eternal truth matters. I don’t know how to label one event as having eternal significance and another simply a temporal occurrence lacking everlasting repercussions. Perhaps it is a result of taking God’s omniscience, omniscience, or eternal plan to ridiculous, unbiblical conclusions. But I’ve never felt smart or discerning enough to treat some people or interactions as not important.

This gets me into trouble. I think words matter; worse, I think all people matter – especially those who are more sheep than shepherds, who count on others to protect, lead, and nourish them. I get protective. I went to seminary in part to learn how to take care of people but I often find myself trying to help people who don’t want help.

When this happens, I am often reminded that the internet or this blog or that forum is not the church. This carries with it an implicit freedom from responsibility, as though the host is not responsible if guests eat bad food brought by others to an intellectual and spiritual potluck. Forums are particularly prone to this: people are allowed to say anything, teach anything, and dismiss the writings of those who are experts in various fields.

What I want to do at this point is to describe a situation and ask for a response. The situation will not be any particular one but instead one that is an amalgam of several I’ve been involved in. And then you can tell me: Am fanatical or biblical? Do I take things too seriously or perhaps not seriously enough?

In a comment thread, a popular blogger begins to give her opinion about homosexuals in the church, the sinfulness of their behaviors, and what the church must do. She states that homosexual men are homosexual by deliberate, conscious choice and that upbringing has nothing to do with it. Further, she is certain that no real Christian can struggle with same-sex attraction: anyone who struggles is giving unmistakable and irrefutable proof that they are still dead in their trespasses and sins.

She further pontificates that what the church must do in order to remain holy is to excommunicate such people regardless of whether they are acting upon their feelings or not. They are to be publicly dismissed from fellowship and fellow members of the church are not to reach out to them.

My response in this situation has several facets. First, I disagree that all people wrestling with same-sex attraction consciously choose to do so. I also object to the notion that upbringing has nothing to do with it: the individual is responsible for cleaning up the mess, of course, but they did not deliberately create all of the mess. The response of the church needs to be love, not exclusion, and to suggest otherwise is to create an atmosphere of exclusion, not inclusion, for those who struggle with any sin.

I also object to the person speaking authoritatively when they lack training, possess no clinical experience, and have never done research concerning the issue. While it is true that she has a PhD in Biblical Theology, that does not give her the right to espouse her ignorance as though it were wisdom.

Whatever facts I might present are usually ignored. Part of the response I get is that the internet is not the church, that we need to be free to express whatever thoughts or convictions we have regardless of how it might affect weaker brothers, and that strugglers and weaker believers are not the responsibility of the author of the post, the poser of the question, or the own of the blog.

At this point I usually shake my head. Perhaps I took Wesley’s remark – “The world is my parish” – too seriously, but it is my conviction that church membership roles do not define or dictate the limits of our responsibility to one another. I will be held accountable for whatever careless words I speak, the deleterious affects they have on people, and that we have a responsibility to one another to correct, rebuke, reprove, admonish, and love one another.

I believe it is recklessly irresponsible to use authority or credibility gained elsewhere in an unrelated area. My graduate-level exposure to textual criticism, for example, does not earn me the right to question the findings of a Dan Wallace or Bruce Metzger. And my (limited) expertise in personality development and disorders, along with my facility to help others, does not make me someone to be listened to in matters pertaining to church planting or missions.

You tell me: am I a zealot? fanatic? overboard? How serious is our faith, anyway? Are we vitally and organically connected to one another in the Body of Christ or is that just a figure of speech used to convey a sense of unity?

I really want to know. Although I believe I am correct in this matter, I also believe that I am capable of being wrong.